Snap-Dragon
She bade me follow to her garden where
The mellow sunlight stood as in a cup
Between the old grey walls; I did not dare
To raise my face, I did not dare look up
Lest her bright eyes like sparrows should fly in
My windows of discovery and shrill 'Sin!'
So with a downcast mien and laughing voice
I followed, followed the swing of her white dress
That rocked in a lilt along: I watched the poise
Of her feet as they flew for a space, then paused to press
The grass deep down with the royal burden of her:
And gladly I'd offered my breast to the tread of her.
'I like to see,' she said, and she crouched her down,
She sunk into my sight like a settling bird;
And her bosom crouched in the confines of her gown
Like heavy birds at rest there, softly stirred
By her measured breaths: 'I like to see,' said she,
'The snap-dragon put out his tongue at me.'
She laughed, she reached her hand out to the flower
Closing its crimson throat: my own throat in her power
Strangled, my heart swelled up so full
As if it would burst its wineskin in my throat,
Choke me in my own crimson; I watched her pull
The gorge of the gaping flower, till the blood did float
Over my eyes and I was blind --
Her large brown hand stretched over
The windows of my mind,
And in the dark I did discover
Things I was out to find:
My grail, a brown bowl twined
With swollen veins that met in the wrist,
Under whose brown the amethyst
I longed to taste: and I longed to turn
My heart's red measure in her cup,
I longed to feel my hot blood burn
With the lambent amethyst in her cup.
Then suddenly she looked up
And I was blind in a tawny-gold day
Till she took her eyes away. So she came down from above
And emptied my heart of love . . .
So I helf my heart aloft
To the cuckoo that fluttered above,
And she settled soft.
It seemed that I and the morning world
Were pressed cup-shape to take this reiver
Bird who was weary to have furled
Her wings on us,
As we were weary to receive her:
This bird, this rich
Sumptuous central grain,
This mutable witch,
This one refrain,
This laugh in the fight,
This clot of light,
This core of night.
She spoke, and I closed my eyes
To shut hallucinations out.
I echoed with surprise
Hearing my mere lips shout
The answer they did devise.
Again, I saw a brown bird hover
Over the flowers at my feet;
I felt a brown bird hover
Over my heart, and sweet
Its shadow lay on my heart.
I thought I saw on the clover
A brown bee pulling apart
The closed flesh of the clover
And burrowing into its heart.
She moved her hand, and again
I felt the brown bird hover
Over my heart . . . and then
The bird came down on my heart,
As on a nest the rover
Cuckoo comes, and shoves over
The brim each careful part
Of love, takes possession and settles down,
With her wings and her feathers does drown
The nest in a heat of love.
She turned her flushed face to me for the glint
Of a moment. 'See,' she laughed, 'if you also
Can make them yawn.' I put my hand to the dint
In the flower's throat, and the flower gaped wide with woe.
She watched, she went of a sudden intensely still,
She watched my hand, and I let her watch her fill.
I pressed the wretched, throttled flower between
My fingers, till its head lay back, its fangs
Poised at her: like a weapon my hand stood white and keen,
And I held the choked flower-serpent in its pangs
Of mordant anguish till she ceased to laugh,
Until her pride's flag, smitten, cleaved down to the staff.
She hid her face, she murmured between her lips
The low word 'Don't!' I let the flower fall,
But held my hand afloat still towards the slips
Of blossom she fingered, and my crisp fingers all
Put forth to her: she did not move, nor I,
For my hand like a snake watched hers that could not fly.
Then I laughed in the dark of my heart, I did exult
Like a sudden chuckling of music: I bade her eyes
Meet mine, I opened her helpless eyes to consult
Their fear, their shame, their joy that underlies
Defeat in such a battle: in the dark of her eyes
My heart was fierce to make her laughter rise . . .
Till her dark deeps shook with convulsive thrills, and the dark
Of her spirit wavered like water thrilled with light,
And my heart leaped up in longing to plunge its stark
Fervour within the pool of her twilight:
Within her spacious gloom, in the mystery
Of her barbarous soul, to grope with ecstasy.
And I do not care though the large hands of revenge
Shall get my throat at last -- shall get it soon,
If the joy that they are lifted to avenge
Have risen red on my night as a harvest moon,
Which even Death can only put out for me,
And death I know is beter than not-to-be.
poem by David Herbert Lawrence
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Flower and Bird
Amongst the lonely branches of a tree,
Stood a lovely flower fragrant and free,
She was the sight of every passer-by,
'What a beautiful flower! ' people would cry.
The flower in the prime of its youth,
Couldn’t identify life and its real truth,
Proud by its fragrance and beauty it stood,
And thought that beauty was what made it good,
Impressed by its beauty a little bird would sing,
The tale of its love and the whole valley would ring,
Perched on the branch of the great oak tree,
The bird sings its love for the flower to see,
People would stop and look at this tale,
Of the beautiful lady and the gallant male.
And one day the bird let its heart out,
And the beautiful flower refused with pout,
The bird wanting its beloved’s heart,
Asked her, 'What do I do so that we don’t part? '
And the proud flower told the lonely bird,
'There is a flower down the valley, have you heard?
Its brilliant red, is said is more beautiful than me,
So dear bird, make me red, as red as I can be! '
The bird said, 'But your beauty is no match,
So beautiful are you that my heart, you did catch! '
The flower in its pride and anger,
Told the bird 'Oh! Don’t bother',
The sadness in its eyes, the bird couldn’t see,
And said, 'I gift the colour red to thee! '
Saying this he pierced his heart on a thorn,
And spilt the blood on her till he was torn,
And the flower indeed did become red,
With the love of the little bird’s blood,
People would stare at the beautiful flower,
And amongst the branches it would hover,
The people passing soon forgot the song of the bird,
But the silent lament of the flower was never heard,
The flower never forgot the love of its bird,
But the melody of the poor bird was never heard!
poem by Supriya Mothay
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Oh! Lisa With These Lovely Eyes
Lisa with the dark brown eyes
So please tell my soul to sympathize,
We shall cry forever in overcast skies
Lisa with the dark brown eyes,
Lisa with the dark brown eyes
Heartbroken heart spoken, not taken back
To change a mind so is lifes dream
Lisa with the dark brown eyed
Lisa with the dark brown eyes
That blends your butter scotch face insight
Smiles which brings sparkles to my mind
Lisa with the dark brown eyes
Lisa with the dark brown eyes
Many pre thoughts of your strays hypnotize
French, African, English culture dies
Lisa with the dark brown eyes
Lisa with the dark brown eyes
She dabbles her life in fiction trash
her soul with curious follies
Lisa with the dark brown eyes
Lisa with the dark brown eyes
Loneliness, has come far a sad. sad day
Emptiness in your mind and heart pay
Lisa with the dark brown eyes
Lisa with the dark, dark, brown eyes
You walk the world in beauty forgotten
They speak about you something forbidden
Lisa with the dark, dark, brown eyes
Lisa with the dark, dark, brown eyes
Your body your mind so whole same so
Your gave birth and I wish I could understand, understand
Lisa with the dark dark raven eyes
Lisa with the dark dark brown eyes
Curiosity is so special time flies, my sighs
Persuaded a fool to be wise, so wise how wise
Lisa with the dark dark brown eyes.
poem by Klayne Mario Burton
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Cruelty and Love
What large, dark hands are those at the window
Lifted, grasping in the yellow light
Which makes its way through the curtain web
At my heart to-night?
Ah, only the leaves! So leave me at rest,
In the west I see a redness come
Over the evening's burning breast --
For now the pain is numb.
The woodbine creeps abroad
Calling low to her lover:
The sunlit flirt who all the day
Has poised above her lips in play
And stolen kisses, shallow and gay
Of dalliance, now has gone away
-- She woos the moth with her sweet, low word,
And when above her his broad wings hover
Then her bright breast she will uncover
And yeild her honey-drop to her lover.
Into the yellow, evening glow
Saunters a man from the farm below,
Leans, and looks in at the low-built shed
Where hangs the swallow's marriage bed.
The bird lies warm against the wall.
She glances quick her startled eyes
Towards him, then she turns away
Her small head, making warm display
Of red upon the throat. Her terrors sway
Her out of the nest's warm, busy ball,
Whose plaintive cries start up as she flies
In one blue stoop from out the sties
Into the evening's empty hall.
Oh, water-hen, beside the rushes
Hide your quaint, unfading blushes,
Still your quick tail, and lie as dead,
Till the distance covers his dangerous tread.
The rabbit presses back her ears,
Turns back her liquid, anguished eyes
And crouches low: then with wild spring
Spurts from the terror of the oncoming
To be choked back, the wire ring
Her frantic effort throttling:
Piteous brown ball of quivering fears!
Ah soon in his large, hard hands she dies,
And swings all loose to the swing of his walk.
Yet calm and kindly are his eyes
And ready to open in brown surprise
Should I not answer to his talk
Or should he my tears surmise.
I hear his hand on the latch, and rise from my chair
Watching the door open: he flashes bare
His strong teeth in a smile, and flashes his eyes
In a smile like triumph upon me; then careless-wise
He flihgs the rabbit soft on the table board
And comes towards me: ah, the uplifted sword
Of his hand against my bosom, and oh, the broad
Blade of his hand that raises my face to applaud
His coming: he raises up my face to him
And caresses my mouth with his fingers, smelling grim
Of the rabbit's fur! God, I am caught in a snare!
I know not what fine wire is round my throat,
I only know I let him finger there
My pulse of life, letting him nose like a stoat
Who sniffs with joy before he drinks the blood:
And down his mouth comes to my mouth, and down
His dark bright eyes descend like a fiery hood
Upon my mind: his mouth meets mine, and a flood
Of sweet fire sweeps across me, so I drown
Within him, die, and find death good.
poem by David Herbert Lawrence
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sea-Lavender
Lavender, sea lavender!
Pale sweet flower how full of her!
Flower discreet, with your priest's eyes
Trained in all time's mysteries,
Yet how chastely calmly sealed!
Flower of passions unrevealed,
Stainless eyes, but none the less
Wise in life's most nakedness,
With its inward hours of sin,
Known to thee, and all therein;
And how soul with soul found might,
In the watches of the night,
Cherishing an unseen joy,
Man with woman, girl with boy,
Under the sky's multitude,
Till the pulsings of their blood
Led them into ways unknown,
Flesh of flesh and bone of bone
Clasped in one, till doubt was over,
And they went forth loved and lover
Bride and groom to their new home.
See, to--day to you I come,
Flower of wisdom who know all,
To your mute confessional,
Wanting love and wanting her,
(Lavender, sea lavender!)
In a world where she is not,
Mined with plot and counterplot
Built against our happiness.
You, who know her most, can guess
What her thought is far from me,
What soft wind of memory
Fans her with a scent of pleasure,
What sweet song in what sweet measure
Trilled by birds when day was breaking
And each tremulous throat awaking
Strained to make its passion heard
Louder there than other bird,
While we listened, we too, straining
Heart to heart, and watched the waning
Moon fade slowly like a feather
In the red East, close together,
Near, how near, who now are far.
Tell me what her fancies are.
Does she love still? Does she cherish,
In the waste of days that perish
That one dawn, which cannot die?
Nay, I know it, nor will I
Doubt of love or doubt of her,
(Lavender, sea lavender!)
Since she knows and understands
That my hands still hold her hands.
poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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A seed of love
I stand here with a dying
flower in my hand
It's our love
It's petals lie at my feet
along with the pieces of my heart
All twisted and black
But deep in the dark corner
of your heart
Theres a seed
a seed of love
Being kept from the light
I know cause i planted it there
And when your mind feels free
to let the light in and let it grow
It will overcome you and burst into flower
I will be there to hold that flower
And we together will nurture
that flower
And from it make a garden of love
to live in forever
poem by Paul Larmour
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Under The Balcony
O beautiful star with the crimson mouth!
O moon with the brows of gold!
Rise up, rise up, from the odorous south!
And light for my love her way,
Lest her little feet should stray
On the windy hill and the wold!
O beautiful star with the crimson mouth!
O moon with the brows of gold!
O ship that shakes on the desolate sea!
O ship with the wet, white sail!
Put in, put in, to the port to me!
For my love and I would go
To the land where the daffodils blow
In the heart of a violet dale!
O ship that shakes on the desolate sea!
O ship with the wet, white sail!
O rapturous bird with the low, sweet note!
O bird that sits on the spray!
Sing on, sing on, from your soft brown throat!
And my love in her little bed
Will listen, and lift her head
From the pillow, and come my way!
O rapturous bird with the low, sweet note!
O bird that sits on the spray!
O blossom that hangs in the tremulous air!
O blossom with lips of snow!
Come down, come down, for my love to wear!
You will die on her head in a crown,
You will die in a fold of her gown,
To her little light heart you will go!
O blossom that hangs in the tremulous air!
O blossom with lips of snow!
poem by Oscar Wilde
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Heart Of The Flower
Now at the station, the train to another land
Lands of never seen light, light hidden in infinite night
Night in its biggest might, might of the strongest power
And there the smoke of the train to the heart of the flower
I take the first train to the heart of the flower
I take the first train to the heart of the flower
And there the smoke of the train to the heart of the flower
And there the smoke of the train to the heart of the flower
The waiting room of kingdom come, I look back upon my life
Life of loss but now the end
End of rat race overdrive
Overdrive to foreign lands
Lands of contemptous hours
And there the smoke of the train to the heart of the flower
Now on the train
This is the end of my day
I feel my spirits escape like a musical clock thats dying away
I turn once again and wave my hand and say goodbye
I never thought its so easy
I never thought its so easy
I take the first train to the heart of the flower
I take the first train to the heart of the flower
And there the smoke of the train to the heart of the flower
And there the smoke of the train to the heart of the flower
The heart of the flower
The heart of the flower
The heart of the flower
Diamond/1990
song performed by by Alphaville
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In The Grass.
'Tis as if I saw it all — sat now in the grass, and heard
The soft warm wind in my ears like the lilt of a lonely bird;
Sat now in the grasses so — saw, but said never a word.
The two of them in the wood, below me there by the rill;
He with the light on his brow, she in the shadow still;
And a cloud so white goes over the blue on the gleaming hill.
My nest in the grass was good: they deemed that none might see —
Ah God in heaven! my eyes looked out of the hell in me,
As his arm went round her waist, and his lips where mine might be —
Touched hers, as her face drew up like a flower in the light to his —
Touched hers, as I felt her soul shine out in a dream of bliss;
While mine with the pangs of hell was alive in a world like this!
I dared not move, nor could I shut my eyes to it all;
And still they clung and kissed: I heard the waterfall,
I heard the warm wind sing till the day began to pall.
And then they rose, the twain who had taken my life from me;
I did not rise, but lay where none might hear or see,
In the grass in the dark and sobbed, 'Would God that the end might be!'
The years have come since then, and the years have gone but I,
Though the fever of death was strong upon me, did not die;
And though I am old and weak as upon my couch I lie,
'Tis as if I saw it all — sat still in the grass, and heard
The soft warm wind in my ears like the lilt of a lonely bird;
Sat still in the grasses so — saw, but said never a word.
poem by Robert Crawford
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I'm Growing Old
I’M growing old — ‘t is surely so;
And yet how short it seems
Since I was but a sportive child,
Enjoying childish dreams!
I cannot see the change that comes
With such an even pace;
I mark not when the wrinkles fall
Upon my fading face.
I know I’m old; and yet my heart
Is just as young and gay
As e’er it was before my locks
Of bright brown turned to gray.
I know these eyes to other eyes
Look not so bright and glad
As once they looked; and yet ‘tis nor
Because my heart’s more sad.
I never watched with purer joy
The floating clouds and glowing skies,
While glistening tears of rapture fill
These old and fading eyes.
And when I mark the cheek, wkere once
The bright rose used to glow,
It grieves me not to see instead
The almond crown my brow.
I’ve seen the flower grow old and pale,
And withered more than I;
I’ve seen it lose its every charm,
Then droop away and die.
And then I’ve seen it rise again,
Bright as the beaming sky,
And young and pure and beautiful—
And felt that so shall I.
Then what if I am growing old?
My heart is changeless still,
And God has given me enough
This loving heart to fill.
I love to see the sun go down,
And lengthening shadows throw
Along the ground, while o’er my head
The clouds in crimson glow.
I see, beyond those gorgeous clouds,
A country bright and fair,
Which needs no sun: God and the Lamb
Its light and beauty are.
I seem to hear the wondrous song
Redeemed sinners sing;
And my heart leaps to join the throng
To praise the Heavenly King.
I seem to see three cherub boys,
As hand in hand they go,
With golden curls and snowy wings,
Whose eyes with rapture glow.
When I was young I called them mine —
Now Heaven’s sweet ones are they;
But I shall claim my own again,
When I am called away.
Perhaps, when heaven’s bright gate I’ve passed,
They’ll know from every other
The one who gave them back to God,
And haste to call me mother.
0! 1 am glad I’m growing old!
For every day I spend
Shall bring me one day nearer that
Bright day that has no end.
poem by Anonymous Americas
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A moment in eternity
Outside the streets are filled with light,
doors are closed and locked
when the nightly silence is lingering,
while some people look out through dark windows
we walk with your hand fitting into mine,
silver-white stars are all across the night sky
and we talk about places where we have been,
the old oak tree throws a huge dark spot.
Your lips are suddenly hot, sweet and soft
when my heart beats delightful in my throat,
a dove calls to its mate in the dark night
when in that moment time stops suddenly,
your eyes say that you also love me
and I look into their bright depths.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Monologue of a Mother
This is the last of all, this is the last!
I must hold my hands, and turn my face to the fire,
I must watch my dead days fusing together in dross,
Shape after shape, and scene after scene from my past
Fusing to one dead mass in the sinking fire
Where the ash on the dying coals grows swiftly, like heavy moss.
Strange he is, my son, whom I have awaited like a loyer,
Strange to me like a captive in a foreign country, haunting
The confines and gazing out on the land where the wind is free;
White and gaunt, with wistful eyes that hover
Always on the distance, as if his soul were chaunting
The monotonous weird of departure away from me.
Like a strange white bird blown out of the frozen seas,
Like a bird from the far north blown with a broken wing
Into our sooty garden, he drags and beats
From place to place perpetually, seeking release
From me, from the hand of my love which creeps up, needing
His happiness, whilst he in displeasure retreats.
I must look away from him, for my faded eyes
Like a cringing dog at his heels offend him now,
Like a toothless hound pursuing him with my will,
Till he chafes at my crouching persistence, and a sharp spark flies
In my soul from under the sudden frown of his brow,
As he blenches and turns away, and my heart stands still.
This is the last, it will not be any more.
All my life I have borne the burden of myself,
All the long years of sitting in my husband’s house,
Never have I said to myself as he closed the door:
“Now I am caught!—You are hopelessly lost, O Self,
You are frightened with joy, my heart, like a frightened mouse.”
Three times have I offered myself, three times rejected.
It will not be any more. No more, my son, my son!
Never to know the glad freedom of obedience, since long ago
The angel of childhood kissed me and went. I expected
Another would take me,—and now, my son, O my son,
I must sit awhile and wait, and never know
The loss of myself, till death comes, who cannot fail.
Death, in whose service is nothing of gladness, takes me:
For the lips and the eyes of God are behind a veil.
And the thought of the lipless voice of the Father shakes me
With fear, and fills my eyes with the tears of desire,
And my heart rebels with anguish as night draws nigher.
poem by David Herbert Lawrence
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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First Time Ever I Saw Your Face
The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face
I thought the sun rose in your eyes
And the moon and the stars were the gifts you gave
To the dark and endless skies, my love
To the dark and empty skies
The first time ever i kissed your mouth
I felt the earth move in my hands
Like the trembling heart of a captive bird
That was there at my command, my love
That was there at my command
The first time i ever lay with you]
And felt you heart so close to mine
And i knew our joy would fill the world
And would last till the and of time, my love
It would last till the end of time
The first time ever i saw your face
Your face, your face
song performed by by George Michael
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The First Time Ever I Shaw Your Face
The first time ever I saw your face
I thought the sun rose in your eyes
And the moon and the stars were the gifts you gave
To the dark and endless skies, my love
To the dark and empty skies
The first time ever I kissed your mouth
I felt the earth move in my hands
Like the trembling heart of a captive bird
That was there at my command, my love
That was there at my command
The first time I ever lay with you]
And felt you heart so close to mine
And I knew our joy would fill the world
And would last till the and of time, my love
It would last till the end of time
The first time ever I saw your face
Your face, your face
song performed by by George Michael
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face
The first time ever I saw your face
I thought the sun rose in your eyes
And the moon and the stars were the gifts you gave
To the dark and endless skies, my love
To the dark and empty skies
The first time ever I kissed your mouth
I felt the earth move in my hands
Like the trembling heart of a captive bird
That was there at my command, my love
That was there at my command
The first time I ever lay with you
And felt you heart so close to mine
And I knew our joy would fill the world
And would last till the and of time, my love
It would last till the end of time
The first time ever I saw your face
Your face, your face
(e.macoll)
song performed by by George Michael
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Dead To The Living
Work while it is day: the night cometh, when no man can work.
IN the childhood of April, while purple woods
With the young year's blood in them smiled,
I passed through the lanes and the wakened fields,
And stood by the grave of the child.
And the pain awoke that is never dead
Though it sometimes sleeps, and again
It set its teeth in this heart of mine,
And fastened its claws in my brain:
For it seemed so hard that the little hands
And the little well-loved head
Should be out of reach of my living lips,
And be side by side with the dead--
Not side by side with us who had loved,
But with these who had never seen
The grace of the smile, the gold of the hair,
And the eyes of my baby-queen.
Yet with trees about where the brown birds build,
And with long green grass above,
She lies in the cold sweet breast of earth
Beyond the reach of our love;
Whatever befalls in the coarse loud world,
We know she will never wake.
When I thought of the sorrow she might have known,
I was almost glad for her sake. . . .
Tears might have tired those kiss-closed eyes,
Grief hardened the mouth I kissed;
I was almost glad that my dear was dead
Because of the pain she had missed.
Oh, if I could but have died a child
With a white child-soul like hers,
As pure as the wind-flowers down in the copse,
Where the soul of the spring's self stirs;
Or if I had only done with it all,
And might lie by her side unmoved!
I envied the very clods of earth
Their place near the child I loved!
And my soul rose up in revolt at life,
As I stood dry-eyed by her grave,
When sudden the grass of the churchyard sod
Rolled back like a green smooth wave;
The brown earth looked like the brown sea rocks,
The tombstones were white like spray,
And white like surf were the curling folds
Of the shrouds where the dead men lay;
For each in his place with his quiet face
I saw the dead lie low,
Who had worked and suffered and found life sad,
So many sad years ago.
Unchanged by time I saw them lie
As when first they were laid to rest,
The tired eyes closed, the sad lips still,
And the work-worn hands on the breast.
There were some who had found the green world so grey,
They had left it before their time,
And some were little ones like my dear,
And some had died in their prime;
And some were old, they had had their fill
Of bitter unfruitful hours,
And knew that none of them, none, had known
A flower of a hope like ours!
Through their shut eyelids the dead looked up,
And without a voice they said:
'We lived without hope, without hope we died,
And hopeless we lie here dead;
And death is better than life that draws
Pain in, as it draws in breath,
If life never dreams of a coming day
When life shall not envy death.
Through the dark of our hours and our times we lived,
Uncheered by a single ray
Of such hope as lightens the lives of you
Who are finding life hard to-day;
With our little lanterns of human love
We lighted our dark warm night--
But you in the chill of the dawn are set
With your face to the eastern light.
Freedom is waiting with hands held out
Till you tear the veil from her face--
And when once men have seen the light of her eyes,
And felt her divine embrace,
The light of the world will be risen indeed,
And will shine in the eyes of men,
And those who come after will find life fair,
And their lives worth living then!
Will you strive to the light in your loud rough world,
That these things may come to pass,
Or lie in the shadow beside the child,
And strive to the sun through the grass?'
'My world while I may,' I cried; 'but you
Whose lives were as dark as your grave?'
'We too are a part of the coming light,'
They called through the smooth green wave.
Their white shrouds gleamed as the flood of green
Rolled over and hid them from me--
Hid all but the little hands and the hair,
And the face that I always see.
poem by Edith Nesbit
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A Brown Study
LET them sing of their primrose and cowslip,
Their daffodil-gold-coloured hair,
Their bluebells, blue eyes, and white violets,
All the pale dreamy things they find fair;
Give me stir of brown leaves in the sunshine,
The whir of brown wings through the wheat,
The rush of brown hares through the clover,
And the light in brown eyes of my sweet!
Gold hair? Well, I never could love it,
Yet gold, I suppose, has its worth;
The head that I love is as dusky
As the breast of our mother, the earth;
With a gleam like the shine of wet seaweed,
Round pools that the tide has left clear,
And warm like the breast of a linnet,
And as brown, is the hair of my dear.
From the edge of the cliff we look downwards
On the shore, and the bay, and the town,
And brown is the short turf we lean on,
The fishing-boats' sails are all brown:
The sky may be blue--that's the background,--
But the picture itself, to be fair,
However it's shaded and varied,
Should be brown as the dress that you wear.
A lark bursts to sudden sweet singing--
That tuft of brown grass is his home--
And now, a brown speck, he is rising
Against the clear windy sky-dome;
And he sings--how I know? Love instructs me
To know all his notes, what they mean--
That it isn't the colour I care for,
But yourself, oh, my gipsy, my queen!
Ah! the lark knows my heart--I his language;
It's my heart he sings out to the skies;
It is you that I love, and what matter
The colour of hair or of eyes?
No doubt I should love you as dearly
Were your hair like an apricot's down,
And your eyes like the grey of the morning;
But I'm glad, all the same, that they're brown.
poem by Edith Nesbit
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My Beautiful Love
you are my flower
you are my sweet soft petal
hand in hand
...in my hand
holding this precious gift
the blossom of your beauty
you are my beautiful flower
you are my flower
you are my sweet soft petal
heart in heart
just one heart
beating to your sweet aroma
the aroma of your splendor
you are my beautiful flower
you are my flower
you are my first blossom
blossoming love
you are my love
you are my first and true
like sunset ocean blue
you are my beautiful flower
I am glad I picked you
poem by Chidiebere Franklin
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My beautiful flower
You are my flower
you are my sweet soft petal
hand in hand
...in my hand
holding this precious gift
the blossom of your beauty
you are my beautiful flower
You are my flower
you are my sweet soft petal
heart in heart
just one heart
beating to your sweet aroma
the aroma of your splendor
you are my beautiful flower
You are my flower
you are my first blossom
blossoming love
you are my love
you are my first and true
like sunset ocean blue
you are my beautiful flower
i am glad i picked you
poem by Allen Steble
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Into the darkness of His hand
In the deepest valley and the darkest night
There is a hand that holds my hand
And like a child I know not my way
All I know is with whom I stand
There seems to be no way ahead
And the road before me is crumbling
My hand is in my Fathers hand
It is all that keeps me from stumbling
You dare not look to you left or right
For it falls away to the dark abyss
And the path it seems to have come to an end
Yet my hand is held tightly in His
Just when I need my senses the most
And I must not be taken by surprise
I feel my hand in my Fathers hand
And He says ' my son, close your eyes.'
And my head screams out ' you'll fall and die, '
Yet my heart feels my hand in His hand
And the Lord says ' trust in me,
Shut you eyes and together we'll stand'
And so fear and doubt gave way to trust
I closed my eyes and held His hand tight
He led me through the deepest valley
He led me through the darkest night
poem by Frank McEleny
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Crazy About Her
I'm so Crazy about her,
I think of her night and day,
ooh yeah,
her baby-blue eyes,
her godly brown locks,
The best damn body,
that any guy would want,
to get with,
I'm a bunch of nerves,
no style, no figures,
just a small town boy,
just looking for some love,
and a mind that never quits,
and a heart of gold,
but you can't that,
by stand there alone,
and so lonely.
So what are you doing,
over there playing with your hair,
waiting to be rescued,
and swept off your feet,
by your prince in shinning armor,
and on a white horse,
Or are you going to sit on that rock,
so neatly with your legs crossed,
or do I have to make the first move,
persuade you to take a dip in my love pool,
Chorus: Crazy About Her,
Well it Not Stop,
Crazy About Her,
She Makes My Heart flutter,
Crazy About Her,
You look so lovely,
let me pick this flower up,
and give it to you,
and make you smile so big,
smile like you used to,
now here I go,
bringing her happiness you can see,
she’s so beautiful,
it was love at first site,
Chorus: Crazy About Her,
Well it Not Stop,
Crazy About Her,
She Makes My Heart flutter,
Crazy About Her,
She smiles at me,
and tells me that I'm sweet,
I get a warm feeling,
a feeling that wants to now more about her,
she placed her hand on my cheek,
and she looked into my eyes,
but her eyes looked into my soul,
a wild sensation,
was I in love? ,
or was I just insane?
I can feel her fears,
and taste her passions,
Chorus: Crazy About Her,
Well it Not Stop,
Crazy About Her,
She Makes My Heart flutter,
Crazy About Her,
I'll take her hand,
and make her happy tonight,
a dinner,
a night of passion that won't die,
Crazy about her,
Yes I am,
Crazy About Her,
make it last forever,
Crazy About Her,
I Want To Make Her Mine,
poem by Robert Rumery
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